Safe
by Valaina Wynn
Summary: Malcolm is captured by sadistic aliens who discover his greatest fear. One-shot, possible two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: When you haven't updated any stories in a billion years but feel you must write yet another one. Sorry, guys. I'll try to update really soon – summer vacation is underway. Anyway, enjoy this lovely story.**

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"Just tell us what we asked for and this will be over." The aliens were tall, just over seven feet, with purple skin and sharp features. Their eyes bulged from their heads in a way that would be comical were they not some of the most sadistic creatures in the known universe. In Malcolm Reed's opinion, anyway. They were also liars.

"Reed, Malcolm...Malcolm Stuart. Lieutenant-" His words turned into a pained grunt as a violet fist made contact with his already bruised cheek. If Malcolm was being completely honest with himself, he'd admit that he was relieved that that monster of an interrogator hit him. Because to Malcolm's bloodied ears, his voice had sounded weak, raspy. Defeated. And Malcolm would never be able to live with himself if he gave up now.

"You will tell us what we want to know." The alien leaned in close, his voice soft, almost gentle - it was almost more startling than the harsh yells with which Malcolm had grown unfortunately familiar. At least he knew what to expect when there was shouting. It was painful, but it was also predictable. This was quite a new experience, and Malcolm was sure he wouldn't like the result. "If you tell us, we will let you go. You can see your people again. You can heal. You can sleep."

The temptation to talk was almost overwhelming. One part of Malcolm's brain begged him to give in. After all, he had been here for...two, three weeks? His mind was beginning to fray at last, tearing under the stress of constant questions and relentless torture. His body was close to shutting down; Malcolm was sure he had broken bones, but it was hard to focus on one appendage when the rest hurt so badly. He had to make a decision. If he didn't talk, they would kill him. If he did talk, they would kill him. After so long, their promises meant nothing...so why listen?

Taking as deep a breath as his broken ribs would allow, Malcolm gathered his remaining courage and stubbornness and did something he knew would most definitely earn him a lecture from Captain Archer under any circumstance.

He leaned forward and spat in his interrogator's face.

In hindsight, such a blatant show of defiance might not have been the best move. The blow was not unexpected, but that didn't make it any less painful. Malcolm's interrogator roared in anger and hit him again...and again...and again. The grunts turned to gasps and the gasps turned to screams; Malcolm's resolve was slipping further with every blow.

But then they stopped.

"Take him. He is weak." The alien's soft voice was gone, now harsh and rough. His features contorted into the twisted semblance of a grin. "Let us see how his human lungs perform underwater."

Malcolm could practically feel his face pale.

"P-please...please don't." He had never been more ashamed of himself; begging was the lowest thing a man could do, his father had always told him. But Malcolm also hadn't felt this kind of fear since he was a boy, when some bullies almost drowned him in the school's pool.

However, his quiet pleas only drew cruel laughter from his captors.

"Sir, it looks like this one is afraid of water." One of the interrogator's comrades smirked and gripped Malcolm's arm tightly.

"Good."

There was no use resisting, yet Malcolm tried with all his strength to escape his captors' grips as they dragged him down a dimly-lit hallway.

"Please, you don't have to do this!" He had no control over the useless words pouring from his mouth.

"Shut up."

Malcolm was forced into a small room and his arms released. The hard floor knocked the remaining air from his lungs. He tried to rise, but one of the guards immediately planted his boot in Malcolm's back, effectively pinning him. The other guard knelt and lifted Malcolm's face with a hand. He grinned at the officer's obvious fear.

"This is going to be fun."

Needless to say, Malcolm had never been water boarded before. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he was surprised that he hadn't yet had a heart attack from the abject terror.

They strapped him to a wooden table and unceremoniously pushed the end with his head into a shallow drain in the corner of the room.

"Please..." His voice was alarmingly weak. When the guards ignored him, he gave up. It wasn't worth fighting anymore. They were going to torture him as much as they wanted and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He had to be strong.

But Malcolm almost lost it when the cloth covered his face.

He already couldn't breathe. The cloth was rough and blocked out his sight, so all Malcolm could do was listen.

Listen to the preparations of the torture that was sure to break him.

He could hear the water pumping. Through a hose, or into a bucket, perhaps? Not that it mattered.

"This is your last chance to divulge the information." The interrogator's voice floated overhead, but Malcolm barely heard the words. His heart pounded too loudly; it drowned out everything else.

Malcolm took a deep breath, well aware that it would probably be his last one for quite a while.

And he said nothing. No response to the alien's prompt.

For a moment, the sound of running water was the only noise in the room. Malcolm almost let himself relax. Almost.

And then a moment later, his world was nothing but darkness and water and _oh god I can't breathe oh god-_

The aliens _laughed_ , those heartless bastards. While Malcolm coughed and choked and fought for his life they laughed like a group of friends sharing a dirty joke.

He felt like he was drowning. At this point, he probably was. Malcolm tried to fight it, but there was only so much he could do with his wrists and ankles bound. He could feel his senses dulling, his movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated.

And as his vision faded…

 _Suddenly he could see again. Malcolm could barely keep from shaking in fear because he knew what the light meant. The other kids were filing into the locker room and someone had flipped the power switch._

 _"Everyone change and meet me in the pool!" The instructor, Mr. Tate, always sounded far too enthusiastic, Malcolm thought. There was absolutely no appeal to a large pit filled with cold water, waiting to drown innocent children._

 _Maybe he was being a little dramatic, but that wasn't the point. Malcolm had pleaded with his parents for ages, but they still insisted on swimming lessons._

 _"A Reed who refuses to get in the water? A disgrace to his family!" His father had only been half-joking. "How can you expect to join the Navy if you can't even swim?"_

 _And so now here Malcolm was, cowering in the locker room and hoping that no one would see him in his hiding spot behind the towels._

 _The other kids were laughing and talking with one another. They actually seemed_ excited _for swimming lessons, something Malcolm would never understand._

 _"I bet I'll be able to swim all the way across the pool today!" One girl exclaimed._

 _"Not if I beat you there!" Another said, pulling off her shirt to reveal her flowery one-piece and grabbing her friend's hand. "Let's get there first and maybe Mr. Tate will let us try early!"_

 _The girls left, and the rest of the class followed suit. Malcolm couldn't help but sigh in relief when the locker room was finally empty. Maybe he really could just stay here until practice was over, and no one would-_

 _"Malcolm?"_

 _So close._

 _Malcolm drew his knees up closer to his chest and buried his face in his arms. Maybe if he could get himself small enough-_

 _But the feeling of a large hand on his shoulder told Malcolm that his plan had obviously not worked. He didn't lift his head even when he felt Mr. Tate settle on the floor beside him._

" _What are you doing in here? Everyone else is already at the pool. We would like for you to join us." The instructor's voice was gentle, but Malcolm knew better than to be swayed by his words. He just wanted him to get in the water so he could do his job._

 _"I would…rather not, if that's okay with you, Sir." Malcolm tried to keep his voice steady, like his father did when he was speaking with colleagues on the telephone._

 _"Why not?"_

 _That certainly was the question, wasn't it?_

" _Malcolm, you've never done this before," Mr. Tate continued. "I know you have reservations about the water, but you were doing fine last week when we were in the shallow end. What changed?"_

 _Malcolm couldn't quite bring himself to answer. He didn't exactly know_ what _was wrong with him; he only knew that no one could ever find out the truth, especially an adult with the power to tell his father what he said. With that logic in place, Malcolm made up his mind._

 _"Nothing's wrong, Sir. I'm ready to swim now." He stood up, grabbed his towel, and left the locker room. Mr. Tate followed him, still looking concerned._

 _"Good for you, Malcolm," he said once they reached the poolside, where the other students were waiting. "Okay, everyone! Let's get started!"_

 _The lesson went perhaps a little better than Malcolm had expected. He still wasn't sure if he could say he particularly_ liked _the water, but with Mr. Tate's encouragement he had convinced himself that it wasn't the evil thing he had thought it was._

 _"I'll see you…next week, Mr. Tate," Malcolm told him after everyone had changed, gathered their things, and left the locker room. "Um…thank you."_

 _"You're quite welcome, Malcolm," Mr. Tate replied with a smile. "Don't worry; we'll make a champion swimmer of you yet!"_

 _Malcolm's smile was not entirely fake when he nodded. "Maybe."_

 _"See you next week, Malcolm. Are your parents here?"_

 _"They're outside, Sir."_

 _"Okay. Goodbye, Malcolm."_

 _"Bye, Mr. Tate."_

 _Mr. Tate left the locker room then, presumably heading for his car, but Malcolm hung back for just a minute. He hadn't hated the lesson, but he had no wish to continue. But…how could he possibly convince his parents of that? Especially his father._

 _Oh, well. He would make himself like the water – that was the only solution._

 _Malcolm grabbed his bag and stepped out into the waning sunlight. He eyed the pool warily as he skirted around it, headed for the gate that led to the parking lot. He sighed. This was ridiculous. It wasn't like the water was going to jump up and-_

 _"Hey, it's little Mal!"_

 _Oh, no. Malcolm stopped in his tracks, his heartbeat increasing tenfold. He knew that voice._

" _What's wrong, Mal?" Richard Baker, a rather portly boy of nearly twelve, sneered. "You look scared." Richard's friends Peter and Rory, who were just as big and probably an inkling more stupid than he was, laughed from their places behind him._

 _"Go away, Richard," Malcolm mumbled. "I-I need to get home."_

 _He tried to continue toward the gate, but a strong hand on his arm stopped him._

 _"You're not leaving quite yet." Richard's face was suddenly inches from Malcolm's, his expression cruel. "We all saw Mr. Tate go into the locker room to get you. You afraid of something? Maybe of the water?"_

 _Malcolm couldn't get away; the older boy's grip was too strong, and he struggled futilely, which only brought on another round of laughter from the bullies. Richard looked at his friend and grinned._

" _I think it's time little Mal went for another swim. Maybe in the deep end this time."_

 _Peter and Rory surged forward and grabbed Malcolm's legs before he could do anything. All he could do was wriggle like, ironically, a fish out of water as the three boys manhandled him around the edge of the pool._

 _"Stop! Please, STOP!" Tears streamed down Malcolm's face, and he screamed at the top of his lungs up to the moment he hit the cold water._

 _He kicked his legs frantically, trying to break the surface, but his clothes weighed him down, dragging him toward the bottom of the pool. Water flooded his open mouth as he gasped for air that just wasn't there._

 _The light above Malcolm grew fainter until he was looking at it through an ever smaller tunnel. He couldn't breathe oh god what was happening-_

The cloth was suddenly yanked off Malcolm's face, giving way to cool, fresh _air_. He struggled against the still growing darkness as he gasped, sounding like a dying man trying to fill his lungs one last time. He could see faces through the tunnel, but they weren't those of the aliens. In fact, they looked almost like…

"C-Captain? Commander…T-Tucker…" Malcolm winced at the sound of his voice; it sounded as if someone had gone at his vocal chords with a cheese grater. He tried to sit up but found he was still restrained, though Trip was working on the bonds as quickly as he could.

"Keep still, Malcolm," Trip said, his voice soft. Malcolm had closed his eyes, but he could tell without even looking that Trip was worried. Why was he worried? Malcolm's mind was going a little fuzzy…he couldn't focus…

"Trip, he's fading. We need to hurry." Come to think of it, the captain sounded pretty worried, too. Malcolm shook his head to clear it, but only succeeded in almost passing out from the resulting pain. What was happening? Maybe his interrogators were coming back. He had to warn them!

"Captain…the aliens…they're…" God, it was hard to talk. Archer seemed to understand him, though, and he placed his hand over Malcolm's now unbound one.

"We took care of it, Malcolm. They're not waking up for a while. You're safe."

Safe…

He was safe…

"Jon, he's not…he's not breathing!"

"Captain Archer to _Enterprise_! It's an emergency – beam us up!"

Safe.

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 **A/N: Whoops, sorry.**

 **Is he dead? Is he alive? The world may never know.**

 **Tell me in the reviews or over PM if anyone wants a follow up chapter that may answer some questions. Love y'all, and as always, review!**

 **~Val**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Y'all, I suck so bad, I'm sorry. Have this baby chapter.**

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Trip had never felt so frustrated and helpless. Sure, there were times when he had come close, but those problems had always had solutions not far away. Nothing he had ever encountered in his Starfleet career had remotely prepared him for the possible loss of a friend.

"Lieutenant Reed's injuries are…severe," Phlox reported when Jon pressed him for answer on the Lieutenant's condition, Trip right on his heels. "During his weeks of captivity, he suffered, among other things, seven broken ribs, three cracked, a fractured right eye socket, two broken fingers on his left hand, second- and first-degree burns across his chest and shoulder blades, and extensive bruising virtually everywhere."

Phlox's expression was grim. "There…there is a chance Lieutenant Reed will not wake up. There is some neurological damage caused by severe blunt force trauma. It is not irreparable, but…"

He trailed off. Trip glanced at Jon, who looked as though he were about to be sick. In fact, Trip didn't feel much better himself. He could feel the rage in the pit of his stomach that had been mounting ever since they had finally locked onto Malcolm's location. Damn that stupid atmosphere interference, scrambling _Enterprise's_ scanners until T'Pol had finally managed to boost the signal enough to lock onto specific bio-signs.

"Those sons a'bitches," Trip muttered. "Why didn't we kill them when we had the chance, Cap'n?"

Jon still looked green in the face, but he fixed Trip with a stern glare. "We don't kill others just because we have the opportunity to, Trip. The Nondoshans will be reprimanded accordingly, and their system is already being blacklisted from Starfleet records as we speak."

"D'ya even hear what you're saying? They almost _murdered_ Malcolm. In fact, it looks like they still have a chance in succeeding!"

"Commander Tucker- "

"GENTLEMEN!" It was the sheer volume of Phlox's voice that sent both men into a stunned silence. Both turned to the doctor, whose face looked about at close to rage as either had ever seen it. He quickly schooled his expression into its usual scholarly calmness before continuing.

"Screaming at each other in the middle of my med bay will not help the Lieutenant, nor will it resolve the rather serious situation with the Nondoshans. I suggest you both either calm down and handle this like the officers you are or leave until you can behave yourselves."

Both Archer and Trip had the good grace to look ashamed. Trip sent a guilty glance toward Malcolm's bio-bed, where the man was lying, still as death. Even in his comatose state, his expression was drawn, features contorted in pain.

 _I hope he didn't hear all that_ , Trip thought. _The last thing I know Jon and I want to cause him is more pain, whether it be mental or physical._

"I'm sorry, Phlox," Archer said. "We shouldn't have yelled at all. This is a very sensitive situation and I know that neither of us wants to make it worse."

Trip nodded, still not quite trusting himself to speak. He wasn't mad at the Captain, but he _was_ mad. Pissed, in fact. All he wanted to do was hunt down the bastards that did this to his friend and make them suffer the same fate. But he wouldn't…not yet, anyway.

"Thank you, gentlemen." Phlox almost smiled, but then his expression turned grim at the sound of beeping from across the room. He crossed to Malcolm's bio-bed and checked his monitor.

"He's waking up."

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Malcolm was sure he was dead. Everything was black and calm. There were no aliens, no torture, no water...but wait.

If he was dead, why was he in so much pain?

Suddenly the blackness wasn't calm or comforting. It was closing in, suddenly suffocating him. Malcolm felt like he was underwater again, struggling and failing to take in a breath before the next wave hit. So, he wasn't dead after all. He hadn't been rescued; he was still in the clutches of his interrogators, doomed to suffer until the bitter end.

Another suffocating wave, pounding him in the darkness. Malcolm couldn't take it. He was going to break, he was weak, his life wasn't worth anything anymore…

He desperately tried to suck in the tiniest amount of precious air, his back arching with the effort. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders and push him back down. Malcolm struggled, but his captor refused to let go.

"Malcolm, stop."

They were using his first name…why? Was this another one of their sick games? And why did the alien sound so much like…

"You have to calm down." Another voice. It was far away but familiar like the other one. He was so confused, had to get away-

"You're safe, Lieutenant Reed!" A third voice, closer this time. Was that…Phlox? Did they have him too? No, that wasn't right. Malcolm had been alone that entire time. And what did he mean by 'safe'? It wasn't safe. Nowhere was safe.

Who was screaming?

Maybe he w _as_ dead, and this was Hell. A place filled with screams and the voices of his friends making empty promises before fading away into the nothingness where he could never hope to find them-

"Malcolm! You are safe! No one is going to hurt you, just calm down!"

The captain's voice was too loud, too close. Malcolm's eyes flew open and he realized _he_ was the one screaming. And he couldn't stop.

In fact, he kept screaming until Phlox jabbed a hypospray in his neck and he went limp, fading into that suffocating darkness once more.

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 **A/N: I'm sorry it's so short. I wanted to make it longer but this seemed like such a good place to stop. I promise the next one will be longer, and probably contain less screaming. Also, maybe it won't take me a billion years this time. Thanks to all y'all that haven't given up on me yet.**

 **~Val**


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